Cherry Chapstick
by seriousish
Summary: Come on, like you haven’t thought of writing a femslash fic where the girls perform ‘I Kissed A Girl’? Faberrittana.
1. Chapter 1

Like many things at high school, it all started with a homophobic remark.

"In the light of _Ms._ Sylvester's remarks on gay adoption and how people grow up to be hoarders, this week we'll all be performing songs about acceptance of alternative sexualities," Mr. Schuester announced.

There was a chorus of groans from everyone except for Rachel, who always clapped.

"I know it's gimmicky, kids, but it will probably stop GLAAD from making those threatening phone calls. And come on, aren't we _all_ tired of waiting outside the school while the bomb-sniffing dogs walk the grounds?"

"I like dogs," Brittany said.

"I like your attitude," Schuester said. "Finn, Puck, Kurt, Artie, Matt, Mike—"

"Someone knows my name?" Mike exclaimed.

"You'll be doing a song on homosexuality. Rachel, Quinn, Brittany, Santana, you'll be lesbians."

Quinn buried her head in her hands and would only speak in glum sentence fragments.

"What about us?" Mercedes asked, pointing at herself and Tina.

"Transgendered and asexual," Schuester said.

"Hell to the nah!"

"It's that or furries."

"Hell to the yes!"

* * *

And so the girls, most of them at any rate, ended up nervously lounging together in the janitor's closet during free period. Since the janitor had gotten fired over Twitter account, _What I've Seen Go Into The School Lunch_, the vacated closet was the latest hang-out and the Cheerios were eager to exploit it as much as possible before some other clique muscled in. Rachel had been dragged along because Quinn thought it was cruel to let her go to lunch alone (she'd been following the janitor's tweets). Brittany and Santana had objected, but been outvoted when Brittany voted for both sides. She didn't want anyone to feel bad she hadn't voted for them.

"Have we decided what we're going to sing yet?" Brittany asked, about to open her chocolate pudding cup. She didn't want to have to set it down to sing and then forget where it was. Not since it'd happened with her baby brother.

"No, you can eat your pudding," Santana said.

Quinn, who was staring at the wall, either finally saw what she was looking for or got bored. "Let's just sing that stupid girls-kissing song. Katy Perry used to be a good influence, and it will get GLAAD off our backs. I'm tired of being called a breeder."

"It was just one time," Rachel said, to Quinn's glare. "What? I'm _agreeing_ with you."

"Anyone have any reservations about 'I Kissed A Girl'?" Quinn asked, still glaring at Rachel, who fixed her hair in response.

"I'm in," Santana said.

"I don't want to sing anything in reverse," Brittany said.

The next fifteen minutes flew by. The Cheerios came up with simple yet addictive choreography to go off the song's beat and pep, while Rachel thought about costumes. ("All of us… cowgirls…") But on the second run-through, it turned out there was something missing.

"We need something for the bridge," Quinn said, chin in hand, "when the song slows down and starts talking about how magical girls are," she added for Brittany's benefit.

"Yeah, so magical she has a boyfriend," Santana chuffed. She had strong, unvoiced opinions on Katy Perry's lesploitation.

Quinn turned on her heel. "Rachel? Anything?"

"I could do a solo!"

"That's your answer to everything."

"No it's not."

* * *

_Last week, Civics class…_

"Now, does anyone have any ideas how to fix the healthcare crisis?" the teacher asked.

Rachel's hand shot up.

* * *

"She is really good at solos," Brittany said.

"Thank you, Brit."

"Maybe two of us could kiss while other two sing! And you're welcome."

"That's gross," Quinn said. "And everyone will think we're lesbians. Who on Earth would want that?"

"I think it's a great idea!" Rachel said, clasping her hands together as if she were trying to wring all the earnestness out of them. "Do you know how much men's magazines will pay for an interview where a female celebrity hints at bisexuality? Megan Fox kissed three women and got three movie deals, and _she_ can't break glass with a high note!"

"I thought that was an accident," Santana said.

"The window _was_ an accident. I've been honing my powers since then…"

"We'd look really good kissing," Brittany said to Santana. "Like in those videos we made."

"**No**," Quinn put her foot down. "Britt, San, you do realize this is how rumors get started? And rumors are much easier to get rid of if they're not true."

"So, what, we should kiss?" Rachel asked. "I mean, we do have chemistry, but… what about my solo?"

"We do **not** have chemistry. But if we spend the entire song dueting, then we should give them a chance to shine. Although I'm not convinced our anatomy _should_ touch, much less our mouths."

"That _is_ where we eat," Brittany remarked.

"You think the boys won't make out for cheap bragging rights?" Rachel argued.

Quinn sighed in defeat. "I know they will. Finn and Puck once got to third base because Santana said she'd show them her tits."

Everyone stared at Santana.

"What, it's not like I really did show them anything. And shouldn't we be focusing on stopping GLAAD from doing whatever they're going to do with all that fertilizer they bought upstate?"

"Fine," Quinn said. "If it'll save the school, I'll make out with Rachel Berry. Wait… let me think about a few of the people I like who go to this school… okay, yeah. Santana, give her a breath mint."

"I do not need a breath—" Rachel started, before Santana came up behind her and slipped a Tic-Tac into her mouth.

"Suck on that for a while," Quinn told her smugly.

Brittany leaned over to Santana. "She stole your big line from the videos," she whispered.

* * *

They ran through it again. It seemed to Rachel like there was an awful lot of touching in the choreography. There was mock-slapping and stroking and handholding. The stroking seemed a little much. But they sounded good. Then they were on the last chorus before the slowdown and Quinn was looking at her. Staring, really, which was rude, and usually Quinn only looked at her for a few seconds before making a face and turning away… and then asking if anyone was missing a fugger, which wasn't even a real word.

"I kissed a girl and I liked it," Quinn sang, lowering her head like a bull about to charge.

"I liked it," Rachel sang-plied, wishing she had time for a breathing exercise.

It wasn't as awkward as she thought it would be. Quinn just stepped in and kissed her. It was kinda nice, actually. She could tune out everything else for the soft pleasure, letting it all became a vaguely supportive back-up. The Cheerios continuing at their slower tempo, Quinn's arms wrapping over her shoulders, the little noises she was making somewhere around her sternum… none of it seemed as important as Quinn's tongue in her mouth.

"Hey, guys?" Santana asked. They looked over at her, still hanging off each other, their faces still in heated proximity. "Do you wanna sing the next verse or do you want to get to second base?"

Rachel really wanted to check her lip gloss.

Quinn pushed the other girl away. "This isn't working. Santana, _you_ kiss the freak-job."

"Hey!" Brittany exclaimed.

"She was talking about me," Rachel said.

"Oh, okay."

They went through it again. Quinn was acting really weird, in Rachel's opinion. She shied away from everyone during the touchy moves, even the other Cheerios, and they had always been cuddly. Rachel remembered how last summer she'd seen them sharing the shade in a puddle of spandex and skirts, all listening to the same iPod.

Now that iPod was hooked into Santana's boombox and playing the instrumental version of 'I Kissed A Girl', since Quinn's parents didn't approve of her having the ordinary version on her playlist. They hit the chorus again, Santana eyeing Rachel like the diva might eat garlic at the last minute or something, then Santana crashed down on her like a tidal wave with lips.

Rachel might've actually squeaked as their bodies pressed together so snugly they could've been in a wrestling hold, Santana grabbing her by the waist and not letting her go. And the kiss itself was so fierce and demanding that Rachel almost wanted to fight against it, but all she could do was moan into Santana's mouth as the cheerleader slipped her hands down to grab Rachel's ass, now pulling them together so tightly that they were actually _rubbing_ against each other…

"Hey!" Brittany exclaimed, and this time Quinn joined her.

Santana pulled away so fast that Rachel was left tonguing the air. Her hands insouciantly stayed on Rachel's ass. "What? We're trying to outdo the boys, right? And there's no way this won't get a standing ovation… at least from the male half of the audience."

"That doesn't mean you have to give her a friggin' _O_, Santana! For Josef Fuchs' sake, Brittany, you do it!

"Oh, she was talking about penises," Brittany said.

They ran it again. Was it just Rachel's imagination, or was the music louder now, less like a pop song than voodoo drums? Or something? They ran through the chorus (and now Quinn and Santana seemed to perform in truly eerie aural harmony, like those kids in The Shining, but with GOGA) and Brittany came up to Rachel, who managed to do something like both a wince and a wink, then she kissed Rachel sweetly on the forehead and said "You make me so proud, pumpkin."

This was finally enough for Quinn to turn off the music. "Brittany, you're supposed to _actually_ kiss her, not like her mom does it."

"Yeah, like we do it," Santana said. She noticed the others, even Brittany, staring at her. "When we're trying to impress boys, I mean."

"Or when we're alone in the girls' locker room?"

"Yes," Santana sighed. "Or then."

"From the top," Quinn said, and turned the music back on. This time it definitely seemed louder, and Quinn and Santana's coy touches seemed really warm, like they'd lain out in the sun for a while. Even Brittany felt hot as playground equipment on a bright day. Rachel had always envied them that, that they could lay out on the school's roof in bikinis and no one dared say anything about it while they were tanning. If Rachel had tried that, someone would've invented a rainmaker.

_It felt so wrong, it felt so right  
Don't mean I'm in love tonight  
I kissed a girl and I liked it  
I liked it_

Quinn and Santana started in on the bridge. At first Rachel thought Brittany had missed her cue, then the blonde moved in and gave Rachel a sweet, lingering kiss. It was over before the others could do even one verse. Rachel was about to complain when Brittany kissed her again, this time on the neck. It felt nice. Brittany kept sinking lower, and her lips pecked at Rachel's breasts. It felt nicer. Rachel's nipples stiffened against her bra. Then Brittany's knees hit the ground and she lifted Rachel's blouse up to kiss her way across Rachel's midsection.

Rachel looked up from the top of Brittany's head to see Quinn and Santana staring at her. They didn't look outraged or disgusted or any of the emotions Rachel was used to. Santana looked intrigued and Quinn was swallowing a lot.

"Aren't you going to stop her?" Rachel asked. It came out as something of a squeal.

"Aren't _you_?" Quinn replied, just as Brittany ducked her head under Rachel's skirt.

"I… I…" Rachel went cross-eyed and dropped down into a sprawling heap in front of Brittany. "I think we should take a break."

Brittany wiped her mouth off. The song still hadn't finished.

Quinn glanced at Santana, impressed.

Santana recognized the look in Quinn's eyes with the quasi-telepathy that came with throwing and being thrown several feet in the air and then expecting to be caught. "Maybe we should practice the kissing more. To get used to the idea."

"And see who would make the most aesthetically pleasing pair," Quinn nodded.

Rachel sat up. She looked from Brittany to Quinn to Santana. "Maxim is never going to believe this."

* * *

The boys ended up beating their performance with a rendition of "What What (In the Butt)."

* * *

Next Monday, Sue Sylvester found that her Jeep Cherokee had been completely filled with manure.


	2. The Skeletons In My Closet Are Porking

The morning after they performed 'I Kissed A Girl', the girls avoided each other like they each had a different highly contagious, and uncurable, disease. It wasn't just that Santana and Rachel had slipped each other the tongue on stage… as Puck explained, lipstick lesbianism was a well-known exception to the rules of homophobia, which also required Kurt be dumped in some trash receptacle on a weekly basis ("I truly doubt those are codified," Kurt said from the recycling bin). It was more about the sudden looks that their equally sudden affection netted. They couldn't hold hands or hug or mime doggy-style sex without someone tweeting that it was lesbo. Even Brittany and Santana wore dark sunglasses and jumped at every slurping sound, as if they expected to receive their first damning Slushee facial at any moment.

After a week of walking in fear, one of another, as if Joseph McCarthy were a lesbian, the Cheerios decided this was unacceptable. And so, on the Saturday Rachel's dads were marching on Warner Brothers to protest the lack of a gay sex scene for Dumbledore in the Harry Potter movies, Santana went into the lion's den. Also known as Rachel Berry's house.

The house wasn't as weird as Santana had expected. From what Quinn had said about Rachel's double dads (and oh, the mileage she had gotten out of that), Santana had half-expected it to be painted pink and have mustachioed policemen chasing scantily-clad cowboys. But it was only painted pink.

To make up for the lack of weird, the welcome mat didn't say "Welcome," but "If you would like to see Rachel Berry, star of the hit school play 'A Very Musical Breakfast Club,'" and from there it gave the details of Rachel's schedule. Santana checked her watch. 3:15 PM, so Rachel would be at home, practicing her acceptance speeches. She tried the door. It was open. Hearing a "you like me, you really like me, I had my doubts!" from upstairs, Santana shut the door behind her and went up.

"I'd just like to thank all my fans, all my supporters, everyone who wrote slash fics about me and Angelina Jolie… so flattering…"

Santana knocked on the door to Rachel's bedroom. The silence was deafening. Then the door flew open. Rachel stared at her with kid-in-a-horror-movie intensity.

"Hi," Santana said.

"I need to change." Rachel slammed the door shut. Santana hadn't really noticed, as Rachel had been quick on the take, but it'd looked like she'd been wearing some sort of prom dress. Only pink. And with ruffles.

Santana leaned against the door. Damn it all, that pink, ruffled dress had looked good on Rachel. Not as good as it would off Rachel, but… "I was just thinking about an encore."

Clothes rustled. "That's sweet of you, but I'm giving my voice a much-deserved holiday. Nothing but water and cherry Jell-O."

Santana tried the doorknob. The door swung open. What was it with the Berry family and locks? "Not that kind of encore."

Rachel had successfully managed to extract herself from the fairy princess outfit and hang it on the inside of the door to her closet, leaving her in a bra and panties. They were of the K-mart variety that might as well be cardboard, but who cared about the frame when the picture was good?

Santana sauntered inside, kicking the door shut with her heel. "Rachel, you're making me feel ever so slightly overdressed." She began to correct the problem. It wasn't that she particularly liked Rachel… Santana didn't have anything against her, but her friends did, so Rachel was an honorary annoyance… but she knew that all this sexual tension had to be put away before she started having dreams about Rachel or shouting out her name when she was with Brittany. Dreams about Rachel were automatically to be considered nightmares in cheerleading circles, and screaming "Rachel!" while Brittany did not-penetration-but-really-good-all-the-same things with her mouth was only a step away from gay marriage in Vermont.

So the best thing she could do was fuck Rachel so that everything could get back to normal.

Getting the gist of Santana's plan, Rachel gulped and tried to fight down any number of Hispanic stereotypes regarding promiscuity and fieriness, as they were rude and could be very harmful to her career if she ever starred in a remake of Thelma & Louise with Jennifer Lopez (she thought both leads being minorities would give the film a new, edgy dimension). "I, uh…" Rachel covered herself, then turned it into crossing her arms, then noticed she was also crossing her legs, which caused some balance issues. "As flattered as I am by your subtext, and as accepting as I plan to be of my queer fans, I really think any further sexual experimentation on my part would angle me away from bicuriosity and into genuine sapphism… or, or even lesbianism! And look what that's done to Lindsay Lohan's career!"

"I think that was more drugs and alcohol," Santana said, so taken aback that she'd stopped sauntering and unzipping her hoodie.

Which, in a weird sort of way, discombobulated Rachel and made her even more nervous. "Don't be ridiculous!" she nearly shouted. "When have drugs and alcohol ever made a singer _less_ popular?"

"So," Santana drawled, now idly toying with her zipper in a way that was torturous for Rachel, "you plan on taking drugs to help your career?"

"Only Demerol. But then I'll triumphantly rise above my addiction and release a CD about my time in the Betty Ford Clinic."

Giving up, Santana nodded. "Sounds cool." She unzipped her hoodie the rest of the way and Rachel, at long last, found out how low-cut her top was. "But I was thinking we could get high on a little something else."

"Like what?" Rachel asked, dancing out of the way when Santana reached for her.

"I don't _know_, we were supposed to be kissing now!"

"Santana, just because I have made-out with you and your best female friends, does not mean I am a homosexual! Look!" She picked up a magazine. "An article on Johnny Depp, which I read because I was attracted to him and curious about his views on politics!" She slapped the magazine down on her bed, which they were now disconcertingly close to. "Top that!"

Santana grabbed Rachel by the hair and kissed her the way that always worked on Brittany, guaranteed to make her shut up about her Pokemon and start fondling. Rachel was a little more strong-willed, as when the kiss broke she said "This haircut cost 17.72 at SuperCuts!" before moving Santana's hands to her hips. When Santana kissed her again, she was much more receptive. The Cheerio was shocked and gratified to feel two hands squeezing her ass like stress balls.

Rachel babbled breathily when Santana started sucking at her neck. "Just so you know, when I marry one of the Jonas Brothers, this will all be part of my sordid past and I'll probably never bring it up, not even in Maxim interviews, until my tell-all biography-slash-memoirs to be published when I'm in my seventies."

"Mm-hm." Santana was much more interested in the curve of Rachel's throat, and all the interesting ways she could make Rachel tense by just nibbling here or kissing there…

"And of course if you bring it up in interviews, I'll be coy about it, but there'd better not be any pictures or, God forbid, a sex tape. Likewise, if I send you any dirty letters, you'll have to burn them immediately after you sigh longingly."

"Sure thing," Santana replied. Rachel really did have a nice booty for a Jewish princess. She'd go so far as to call it a boot-ay.

Then the front door opened. As happened in all crappy tract housing in Ohio, the sound reverberated up into Rachel's bedroom. On the plus side, it stopped Rachel from talking anymore. On the minus side, it seemed like Santana would now never know what Rachel's haircut was. No, not the one from SuperCuts.

"Rachel? Hello?"

They heard humming as someone came up the stairs.

"Hide!" Rachel insisted.

"Where?"

"Duh!" Rachel shoved Santana toward the closet, eventually stuffing her inside. It was possibly the only walk-in closet in Lima and Santana would never again wonder what happened to the clothes they got rid of on What Not To Wear.

The closet door shut and, moments later, the bedroom door opened. Santana could see that Rachel had managed to pull on sweatpants and a Hello Kitty t-shirt in time to greet… "Brittany?"

"Yes, me," Brittany said, staring at Rachel. "That's funny, you just sounded a lot like Santana. And like you were in the closet. And your lips didn't move."

"I'm not in the closet! Ventriloquist lessons! I've always sounded like Santana!"

"Okay," Brittany nodded. "I thought we should make out to get rid of some of the sexual tension that's making everything awkward. I brought cookies in case you were hungry."

"Oh, uh." Rachel glanced helplessly at the closet, where Santana seethed. She'd gone down on Brittany lower than the Grand Canyon and _she'd_ never gotten cookies. "That's okay, I'm not horny. Hungry! Either. You wanna go for a walk?"

Brittany set the cookies down on the bedstand. She was wearing that skirt Santana liked, the one that showed what underwear she had on when she bent over. Today was Spongebob Squarepants boxer shorts. Santana was sure that pineapple-living freak was laughing at her, straight from Brittany's ass.

"You don't have to worry, Rachel, I'm really good at kissing. Santana kisses a lot of people and she says I'm the best." Brittany sat down on the bed, pulling off her blouse. "We could cuddle if you want. Santana says I'm the best cuddler too."

"Oh my god, shut up!" Santana whispered.

"And she has a lot of stuffed animals."

"Garrgh!" Santana grabbed the nearest teddy bear and put it in a headlock.

"I just think it's silly that we're all so weird just because we're not straight anymore. It's not like we're dating. Except for me and Santana."

Santana was just about to throw a door open when someone beat her to it. The front door creaked, and all three girls froze.

"Berry, what the heck is up with your doormat? Are you _trying_ to get a stalker?" Quinn shouted up the steps.

"Yes! I mean, no!" Rachel shouted back down, then whispered to Brittany "Quick, in the closet!"

Santana shook her head frantically as Brittany asked "Are we going to play hide and seek?"

"Yes, sorta!" Rachel replied, shoving her toward the closet, where Santana was pressed up against the opposite wall like a deer caught in headlights.

"Because it's really important that you say olly-olly-oxen-free when the game is over, or people won't know to come out. And the FBI gets really angry if they only find you because you went to get a snack."

The stairs were creaking as Quinn came up. Rachel threw the closet door open and saw Santana in a top with a cut that could've been made by an axe and daisy dukes that showed off miles of goosepimpled legs. "Oh, right," Rachel muttered.

Quinn's footsteps were approaching Rachel's room.

"Brittany, you know Santana, Santana, you've met Brittany." Rachel shoved her inside and slammed the door shut just as Quinn came in.

"Hi!" Brittany offered her hand to Santana.

Santana slapped it away. "What are you doing here?" she whispered harshly. Outside, Quinn and Rachel were doing their banter. Santana didn't need to listen to it. Blah blah blah, hate you so much, yadda yadda yadda, I would go down on you after a thimble of alcohol.

"What are you doing here?" Brittany replied.

"I asked first!"

"Yeah, you did…" Brittany played with her hair as Santana crossed her arms, eyes demanding an answer.

"Are you cheating on me?"

"No, it's just sex."

"That counts!"

"Since when?" Brittany looked around. "These dresses are really ugly."

"Focus, Britt!" Santana grabbed Brittany's face in her hands and barely noticed how warm and soft her skin was. "It's one thing to eat someone out in front of your girlfriend, I've watched porn and lesbians do that all the time, but if you go to someone's house and offer to make out with them, that's weird!"

"Isn't that what you did?" Brittany asked.

"It's not the same! I just… well, you already ate Rachel out, so this would make us even. It's like, you gave her an O and you're my girlfriend, so if she gave me an O, then everything would be cool!"

"I'm not good at math."

"I know you're not, sweetie." Santana stroked Brittany's cheek, then stopped. "It's like how I go out with Puck sometimes and you don't mind, because he's a boy and you're a girl, so…"

"I mind."

The closet was suddenly so quiet that Santana couldn't even hear Rachel and Quinn outside. Quinn had gotten pregnant, so Santana could only imagine what she would do when she was alone with some kind of lesbian transmogrifier. Now that she could use her imagination when Brittany was looking so sad.

"What?"

Brittany put her hands on Santana's and drew them down from her face so they dangled between them like a broken bridge. "I really wish you wouldn't spend so much time with Puck. I know you only date him to make Quinn jealous, and you only do that because you wish Quinn would pay more attention to you, but you used to like it when I paid attention to you. Remember? We used to play board games and watch Sailor Moon and you would help me with my homework…"

"Britt, that was _years_ ago. In _junior high._"

"Then we started making out and I thought we could spend a lot more time together, like Quinn and Finn. But we didn't."

Santana was speechless. She didn't dare to start to scratch the surface of what Brittany was saying, so on autopilot she said "Is that why you came here? You want Rachel to be your girlfriend?"

Brittany shook her head. "I want _you_ to be my girlfriend. But you don't want a girlfriend and Rachel looks really lonely, even when she's eating with the other people in Glee, and since I always feel really warm and bright after we make out, I thought that I could make out with her and she'd go back to being happy. And then everything could go back to normal."

Brittany loved Santana. She wanted them to be girlfriends. "I don't think there is a normal," Santana replied, purging the words from her system, the last thing she could say before there was nothing but kissing and pulling Brittany tightly to her and shucking off clothes like they were about to explode from contact with Rachel's pantsuits.

"I love it when you do this," Santana admitted, teary-eyed like some _loser_, as Brittany's finger found a warm home between her legs.

"I love the noises you make. They're funny." Brittany wiggled her finger and Santana had to admit, yeah, they were a little funny.

"I love you," Santana replied, reaching for Brittany. For a long time, she'd figured that it wasn't gay so long as Brittany was the one doing it to her, that maybe Brittany was gay but she just liked having gender-neutral things done to her, and that was only gay if you liked doing the same thing to girls instead of guys. Now she got gay, really, incredibly, impossibly gay, and Brittany's smile was like a nuclear explosion; it made her want to be wearing goggles.

"Jesus Christ on a cracker in a trailer park!" Quinn exclaimed, so shocked she wouldn't even think to apologize for the blasphemy until she was on the way home.

Santana and Brittany turned to see the blonde standing in the doorway, her jacket slung over her arm, waiting for a coat hanger. Brittany helpfully handed one to her.

"What in the _fuck_ are you doing?" Quinn demanded.

"In my closet!" Rachel added, unable to stop her eyes from taking in how Brittany's milky-white flesh was wrapped up in Santana's duskier skin.

"We're girlfriends," Brittany said proudly.

"Yeah, no shit, why _Rachel Berry's closet?_"

"See, it's like this," Rachel said. "They came here to deal with all the sexual tension between the four of us," (Quinn's eyebrow raised the first of many increments) "by having sex with me, then when we heard you coming, I told them to go into the closet and then… they started… having sex?" Rachel was a bit confused on that point.

"You're having a threesome and you didn't invite me?" Quinn's brow furrowed, before she realized what she'd said. "Not that I'd want to be in your stupid threesome!"

"Then it'd be a foursome," Brittany chimed.

"We came here separately to have sex with Rachel," Santana clarified. "And then we came to a realization about our relationship and decided to celebrate."

"On my pantsuits?" Rachel cried, blushing as pink as her Hello Kitty tee.

"Shut it, Berry, lesbians could only improve your fashion," Quinn snapped.

Santana moved her arm around Brittany's shoulders. "Don't act so high and mighty, Quinn. You're making a booty call too."

"We have a science project together!"

"Oh."

"If you like, we can work downstairs while you take the bed," Rachel offered.

"Berry!" Quinn yelled.

"They brought cookies," she replied.

"Ugh!" Quinn threw up her hands. "You can stay here in the den of filth and iniquity that is Rachel Berry's bedroom, but I'm going to go home and see if I can find a cure on the internet for whatever lesbian hormones that _stupid_ Katy Perry song stirred up in all of you."

"If you shorten lesbian hormones, you get lesbo-mones," Brittany said.

"Stay strong, Brittany." Quinn reached out to make reassuring skin contact, then thought better of it. "I'll rescue you. Later." She shoved Rachel into the closet, shut the door, and made a break for it.

"Sorry I landed on you," she would've heard Rachel say, had she stayed.

"I'm not," Santana replied.

"I like your pussy," Brittany said.

"What! Oh, you mean the T-shirt."

"I like your pussy," Santana echoed.

"What? _Oh!_"

About two hours later, they finally bothered to open the door.


	3. In which Quinn has a spanking fetish

Not being part of the lesbian pile-up turned out to be harder than Quinn expected. It seemed like every minute, she would turn around to find one of the threesome returning from an illicit rendezvous, face flushed, hair a mess, lips molded into a stupid smile. One afternoon she saw the entire cheerleading squad, led by Santana, coming in through the double doors. They were sweaty, giggly, and Brittany was hanging off Santana like a purse.

"Sluts!" Quinn exclaimed, pointing at them.

As it turned out, Sue Sylvester had just ordered that the Cheerios do a few laps around the school.

At church, Quinn prayed about it and prayed about it and had a dream where Rachel was dressed up like a nun. Or possibly a nun-themed stripper, dreams were confusing that way.

Of course, Rachel was alright. She didn't shove her lifestyle choice in Quinn's face, she just said "Hey, the Cheerios and I bought a tub of strawberry ice cream, wanna come over?" It was entirely possible she meant that they would eat it out of _bowls_.

Santana and Brittany were different. They were the biggest argument for promiscuity since Mick Jagger. Quinn couldn't turn a corner without seeing them doing something out of The Lesbian Kama Sutra or an episode of Xena. It was just unfair for a homophobe to be stalked by barely legal cheerleaders.

Finally, Quinn decided to take matters into her own hands. With a cucumber. It was a sin, but on a scale of 1 to Puck, it was practically tithing. She really tried hard to think of something Godly, like Kirk Cameron, but as she came, all she could picture was Rachel Berry singing "I Touch Myself" with the Cheerios on guitar and drums.

It was obvious what had happened. Rachel, Brittany, and Santana had turned her gay. Possibly with Wicca magic.

The next day, she went over to Rachel's house.

"Hey, Quinn, it's so good to see you! We _just_ got some honey from the grocery store."

Quinn felt her loins go all loin-y.

"We can put it in our tea! Jewel swears by it, and although I personally feel her current image leaves something to be desired, her talent is undeniable."

"Yeah. Okay."

Five minutes later they were upstairs, drinking tea with honey in it. Lesbian-wise, it seemed very anticlimactic. (In her head, Quinn congratulated herself on the pun.)

"Rachel, there's no use denying it anymore. I'm a lesbian. A big, well-proportioned dyke. And I'm interested in intercourse with you."

"Okay." Rachel looked at her cup. "Can I finish my tea?"

"Yes." Quinn watched Rachel's lips meet the tea cup. "It's just that I've never been with a woman before and I'm a little nervous."

"What about with that Katy Perry song?"

"That doesn't count, we were practicing a routine."

"You put your hand in my—"

"Doesn't. Count."

"Okay." Rachel set her cup down. "If you're not going to finish your tea, can I have it? I think I've become addicted to honeyed tea." Rachel looked uber-pleased at her musicianly addiction. It was working out much better than her addiction to toothpaste or water, for which not _one_ of the Glee Club had staged an intervention for yet.

"Rachel, I've always had this fantasy. Involving you."

"Aww, that is so sweet!"

"I bend you over my lap and spank you with a paddleball paddle until you beg."

"Okay."

"The good news is, I brought a paddle with the ball already cut off, so we don't have to ruin yours."

Rachel smoothed out her skirt. "Quinn, I would love to help you, but a singer's H-note originates in his or her butt. I can't risk damage to that."

"What's an H-note?"

"We singers don't talk about it with normal people, sorry."

"I understand." Quinn stood up. "I'm probably not a lesbian anyway. Now if you'll excuse me, I saw a magazine cover with Megan Fox in your living room, so I have to pick up some steel wool on my way home."

Quinn went to the door.

"Quinn, wait!" Rachel ran in front of her, blocking the exit. "I have… maybe… been feeling a bit naughty?"

Quinn took a paddle out of her purse. "Like you need to be punished?"

"Well, I was thinking more pun-ished, where someone just says an awful pun and I groan, but yes, I suppose spanking works too."

Quinn smacked the paddle against her free hand as Rachel locked the door.

* * *

"On the bright side, I can still hit H-notes," Rachel mused as she limped into her clubhouse, the Wild Things Room. It had once been the shack for the school's gardener, but then he had stepped on an unexploded WWII landmine. It had confused everyone greatly.

Since his hospitalization, they'd fixed up the place, thrown away the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issues so they wouldn't have to explain their stickiness to Brittany, put in a stereo that played Melissa Etheridge whenever Rachel wanted to 'show solidarity' and Vampire Weekend most of the time, and let Brittany paint Disney characters on the walls, except for the room with the mattress. There, they had compromised and just put in the Little Mermaid, who Santana didn't mind watching her come.

Speaking of Santana, she and Brittany were fighting over how to sit on one bucket of ice, which wasn't big enough for both of them despite Santana's low-carb diet and the day Brittany had only had a crayon for lunch.

"Rachel, what happened?" Santana asked. Then she saw what Rachel was rubbing. "Mexican food?"

"No. Quinn Fabray." Rachel collapsed facedown onto the mattress, pulling her skirt up to let air sooth the burn. "On the bright side, I think she's come to terms with her sexuality. I heard her humming t.A.T.u. as she left."

"That's cool, I think I only turned her halfway gay," Brittany said. "After she spanked me, she was humming Mick Jagger."

"That doesn't count, Mick Jagger is Mick Jagger," Rachel said.

"Guys?" Santana stood up, leaving the ice bucket to Brittany's ass. "Quinn took my anal virginity. _And_ she hummed Indigo Girls afterward."

Rachel's eyes narrowed. "That skank! She was a lesbian all along! She spanked us under false pretenses!"

"Yeah…" Santana looked around furtively. "Spanked…"

* * *

The next day, after Glee Club (Finn led a spirited debate that the lyric went "I ain't talking 'bout the linen," instead of "I ain't talking 'bout moving in"), they cornered Quinn in the lunch room. She seemed ineffably smug. More than usual, as a matter of fact.

"Sore about something, Berry?" she asked, tossing her hair.

Rachel was so mad she could only express it through interpretive dance, but words would just have to do! "You spanked us like a new mom on Wife Swap!"

"Yeah, not to mention that other thing," Santana added, eyes lighting up just a little. "Perv."

"I only did that because you asked me to. You came!"

"How many times I came is not the question here!"

"I didn't come," Brittany pouted. "Even when Santana kissed it better."

Rachel petted her hair sympathetically.

"Well, I did," Quinn declared smugly. "That's what you wanted, right? Me to play in all your perverted reindeer games?"

"There aren't any reindeer," Brittany pouted again, even more depressed.

Santana joined Rachel in petting Brittany's hair.

"Why do you always have to do this, Quinn!" Santana's fingers clawed through Brittany's hair. "You always have to be queen bitch of the universe. Just once, can't you be a friend?"

"The dictionary definition of friends is not 'someone whose vagina you put your tongue in'," Quinn returned.

Rachel took both the Cheerios' hands as she stared Quinn down. "Then I guess that makes us friends."

As one, they turned and walked away.

* * *

As loathe as Quinn was to admit it, there was a possibility that the threesome's tempting of her was mostly in Quinn's head. She was forced to own up to it when they started tempting her for real. There was the casual nudity in the locker room, so many bare breasts that you'd think a ragtag bunch of misfits from an 80s sex comedy were spying on them. There was the way Santana (who was a genius-level computer hacker. It rarely came up) sent snippets of sex tape to Quinn's iPhone that deleted themselves after five seconds, forcing Quinn to either watch them when she received them or never know what Brittany intended to do with a popsicle and an inflatable penguin. And Rachel sang torch songs practically on (and into) Quinn's lap. It was like being a twelve-year-old boy: torture.

It was when she caught herself adding a dozen cucumbers to the shopping list that she realized she was going to have to fold.

For all her nightmares (and cucumber fantasies) about what the trio was up to, going to Brittany's house and finding Rachel and Santana curled up on the couch with Brittany across their laps, watching The Little Mermaid, struck her as a little disappointing. They weren't even having a pillow fight. It was like they'd never even read Maxim.

"She has such a great voice," Rachel said, staring at Ariel.

"How does she sing underwater?" Santana asked.

"Telepathy," Brittany replied. "Like Aquaman."

"Aquaman's gay."

"You're gay."

"No, _you're_ gay."

"Shh! She's still singing!" Rachel interrupted.

The song ended and Quinn stepped forward. "Hi guys. Your dad let me in."

"Oh." Rachel turned back to the TV. "The couch is full."

Quinn sat down on a love seat. "So, whacha watching?"

"The Little Mermaid. Duh," Santana replied.

Brittany pointed at the screen. "See, she's a mermaid, but she's little by merperson standards."

"Uh-huh." Quinn stared at the screen for a while. "I'm sorry about trying to be the queen bitch of everything."

The others made various noises of whatever.

"If it helps any, it's probably because I'm deeply pathetic and shallow and my boyfriend left me for this other girl who my other boyfriend already left me for… I'll stop before I confuse Brittany."

"I wasn't listening," Brittany said proudly.

Quinn stood up. She suddenly felt like crying. "So, just so you know… deeply pathetic, shallow… me."

By the time she got outside, Quinn's need to cry was truly surprising her. She grabbed some leaves off the tree in the lawn and blotted her eyes. It took a melodic cough for her to realize Rachel was behind her. She turned, not caring that her mascara was running. "What?!"

Rachel held out a box of Kleenex. "You looked vulnerable, like an American Idol contestant who's going home but has to act happy for her friends."

Quinn blew her nose. "I'm super happy for you."

Rachel hugged herself against the sarcasm. "Can I tell you a story?"

"No."

"When I first discovered I was a triple threat – not just a classical beauty, but a talented singer and emotionist –- that's someone who can emote on a level greater than the rest of humanity – I was worried people might be scared of my skillset, or jealous. I considered wearing a mask to protect my identity, so the agents of hate and fear couldn't retaliate against my family."

"You thought your voice made you a superhero?"

Rachel joined Quinn in laughter. "I was six. Don't be nasty."

"No, it's cute. I can just picture you in form-fitting spandex."

"You wish." To Rachel, this seemed like a good time for physical contact, and not one of those times people would scream 'get off me, you crazy bitch.' She put a hand on Quinn's shoulder. "My point is, you're really good at kissing girls, and maybe that scares you, but it shouldn't, because… you're _really_ good at kissing girls. But I understand if you are. Scared, I mean."

"You askin' me to be your sidekick, Broadway Girl?"

"_How did you know my secret iden--_oh, you meant in bed. That would be very acceptable, yes."

Quinn gave her a hug.

"Brittana will be so pleased. Despite my emotionist skills, I was unable to portray you three-dimensionally and the blonde wig was itchy."

Quinn frowned atop Rachel's shoulder. "I pick 'Brittana' to be confused over."

"I made up celebrity couple names for all of us. You and I will be 'Rainn," like the precipitation."

"I can live with that."

Brittana was waiting for them in the doorway. "We ordered pizza," Brittany said. "You can have my breadsticks, I don't want to get a yeast infection."

Quinn gave them both hugs. As she embraced Santana, Santana whispered "I hope we weren't too naughty with you. If we were, we'll make it up to you however we can."

Quinn gave her an extra squeeze and they all went inside to watch The Little Mermaid.

* * *

"Why does Ariel wear a bra?" Brittany asked. "I don't think she would need support underwater."

"It completes the ensemble," Santana said.

"She is hot, though," Quinn said.

"She has a great singing voice," Rachel agreed.


End file.
